


Refried Beans: Early Spring

by Monaro



Series: Refried Beans fics [1]
Category: Camp Lazlo!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23518708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monaro/pseuds/Monaro
Summary: Dave wants to move on with his life; Lazlo wants to return to something older. What will they do?A commission for President-Frankenstein on Tumblr, this fic was a labor of love. I've been friends with Frank for a long time, and was thrilled to write for him! Not normally my kind of subject matter, but I don't mind!This is part of his Refried Beans series, which I'll be writing another fic for soon- so stay tuned!
Relationships: Lazlo/Dave
Series: Refried Beans fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692352
Kudos: 1





	Refried Beans: Early Spring

Dave waited at campus in the rain; he’d been waiting for maybe five minutes when he saw the van. An old Chevy with a raised-roof and a bed in the back- a mattress, that is- that had been painted day-glo yellow. The look couldn’t help but cackle; this was new to him…

Lazlo rolled down the window hurriedly, panting over the sound of frantic sitars on the 8-track. “I-I’m sorry!.. I’m sorry I’m late, there was… traffic…!”

Dave rolled his eyes. “You’re two minutes early, like you always are!” And so, he clambered up, and they went upon their way.

“So, how was school?”

“Terrible!” The loon threw his arms up in protest. “The paper is behind schedule- Dermott doesn’t want to do his cartoon, he’s suddenly gotten  _ insecure  _ over his work.”

Lazlo butted in. “Well, you did say his cartoons weren’t very good… to his face..”

Dave blushed. “Well- yeah, I did, and no, they aren’t… but he’s an integral part of the team! We can’t deliver without him!... and Professor Richards is crawling up my ass, for that time I decked Johanssen in class-”

Lazlo butts in again. “You mean, the raving fascist, Johanssen?”

Dave had overexaggerated; Johanssen wasn’t an out-and-out white nationalist, but a conservative demographic from the farmland with strong opinions about the trans “snowflakes”, and evils of “Socialism”. “....Yeah, him… so I got  _ patted down by campus police…  _ I’m just glad today’s over!”

Stopped at a light, Lazlo put a hand on Dave’s- which was resting on his thigh. “That sounds awful, Dave… Is there anyway I can make it better for you?”

The look mustered a smile. “You being here is already helping….”

And the two exchanged a small, pecking kiss- before the car behind blatted its horn.

“Ope! Green light!” And the two drove on…

\----

“I think I know where you’re taking me.”

Lazlo giggled. “Sshhh! It’s a secret!”

They were going up Highway 12 toward the Mountains- a trip long-traveled by the rattling old Chevy bus that had ferried them every summer. Dave was not blind to Lazlo’s intentions.. And all doubt was erased from his mind when they rolled through the gates.

They got out to stretch their legs, to find the place had changed little…. Well, it had grown a bit shabbier- the paint on the cabins had faded, grass poked through the gravel drive… but it was mostly details. The lawn had still been mowed, flags still flapped from the lookout and the flagpole. The bus, its faded yellow paintwork now flecked with rust, sported brand-new tires… And a cabin stood well in front of the others, old and ramshackle- Rotten Bean, back after all this time!- receiving a new roof- from none other than..

Dave gawked, stepping forward a few feet. “No way. He’s… he’s still here?”

Lazlo giggled. “Yep!.. They hired him back for the off-season… he’s a handyman!”

Algonquin “Handyman” Lumpus had a plaid shirt and Wranglers on, with a wide sunhat despite it being overcast. He’d unbuttoned every button on the front, so that his ugly, elderly bare chest shown in all its hideous majesty. He had ugly aviator glasses on that made him look like the cop from  _ Cool Hand Luke _ . 

He looked up at them, and scowled. “Lazlo, what are you doing here?”

The monkey wasn’t phased by, or didn’t seem to notice the hostility; he raised his hand high in a greeting. “Hi, Scoutmaster Lumpus!.. I was just showing Dave the camp!”

“I’m not a Scoutmaster, damn it, it’s  _ Mr _ . Lumpus!  _ Slinkman’s _ the big man now, don’t rub it in!”

A nervous chuckle at this. “Ahah… sorry, Mr. Lumpus, but you’ll  _ always _ be Scoutmaster to me!” Dave couldn’t help but snicker.

The moose faltered at this- at last, something had penetrated that veneer of contempt. Maybe he  _ was _ a real person. “Well, ah… thanks, but-... What the hell are you doing here?”

Lazlo looked at the ground. “I just… wanted to show my boyfriend around.”

“Lazlo, I already went here as a kid.. I literally know everything that’s here.”

Lumpus pointed to Dave. “See? He doesn’t care. Come back in June.”

Dave suddenly understood, and turned to Laz. “You did it, didn’t you..? You actually did it.”

Lazlo put a hand on Dave’s shoulder. “Hun.. It’s okay, really.”

“You know I don’t drive, Lazlo… How am I gonna see you if I’m up here?”

Lazlo jumped him, hugged him TIGHT, and Dave thrashed a little- before settling into it.

“It’s okay,” Lazlo murmured, “Trust me… I have something else to show you.” 

“What… WHAT? An old tire swing, a railroad grade? Where McMuesli’s  _ vegetable garden  _ used to be?”

Lazlo shook his head. “No. Even better.”

\--

They drove into Prickly Pines in silence. Dave had much to think about. Lazlo, as loving as he could be, always had some kind of silly scheme- things he left half-finished, or abandoned after a week. As loving as he could be, he had fixations- and tried to make the world fit his image.. Not maliciously, of course, he wouldn’t force anyone to do anything.. But he was predisposed to want to come back to this place.

This place, an hour away on the highway… easy driving distance. Had he overreacted? After all, Lazlo had returned to Brazil for a sumer, and voice-called every night. He would keep in touch, wouldn’t he? And hadn’t he assured Dave in every other discussion of Camp Kidney that he would visit him every weekend? Even so, the loon felt fragile- alone.

They turned onto a dirt side-street; yes, in Prickly, where the Wild West and all its glorious wooden water-towers were alive and well, the side-streets were still paved with dirt. The van pulled to the side, in front of an old false-fronted building- unlabeled- except for a “Help Wanted” sign in the window. 

Dave narrowed his eyes. “...What is this?”

Lazlo opened his door and ran round to hold Dave’s open. With a smile, he jerked his head toward the building with a flourish of his hand. “A surprise… I think you’ll really like it…”

And so, with nothing left to lose, Dave obliged him.

\--

The inside was old and dusty, but the door was unlocked. A grand desk full of papers and a CRT computer-monitor guarded the entrance to a shadowy back-room… Inside was an ancient printing-press, long since disused… Uncovered halogen bulbs burnt into Dave’s irises.. A raggedy throw rug was laid down to make it feel homey. Somebody had set up an electric organ and a  _ drum set.  _

Dave understood now.

“A… a small-time paper?”

Lazlo nodded. “And, if I’m not mistaken… the manager should be around.” He called into the back. “Hello!.... Mr. Frederickson?”

An echoing call came from somewhere in the bowels of this dusty place. “Coming…!” Come to think of it, the voice sounded almost as creaky as the building. From shuffling footsteps came a hunched figure- an old collie clad in a sweat-stained white shirt, bow tie, corduroy pants and loafers… Seemingly a forward-thinking type, Mr. Frederickson had forgone the stereotypical Jameson cigar deal, and bought a cheap vape pen- which, thankfully, he wasn’t using inside, but still dangled from his mouth.

The collie’s tired eyes went from Lazlo to Dave, scanning him briefly, then, after a pause, nodding considerately. “Is this your boy, Laz?”

Lazlo nodded emphatically, and Dave watched the old fellow with guarded curiosity, and not-so-guarded confusion.

“I read your work,” he mused, “Those editor’als you wrote for that… college paper, the… uh..”

“The Fox?” suggest Dave.

“Yeah,” he grunted, “The Fox… It’s good stuff, Dave… Thoughtful, asks questions… a little left-leaning, but the facts are there… not t’mention the creative stuff you wrote for y’r… English class..”

Dave’s eyes widened, and he turned to Lazlo. “You gave him  _ The Last Days of Summer?! _ ” The afforementioned story being a gay romance between to young men at a Hitler Youth sleepaway in the Austrian Alps. How could Lazlo give it to this old fart?!

Lazlo laughed apologetically- a little feebly- and shrugged. “I thought he’d like it!”

Fredrickson nodded. “I did!... Hell, kid, I really did!... “

Dave let out a little sigh of relief. “Good, I’m.. I’m glad!... Because, you know, country people can-”

“-be a little ignorant…?”

“Exactly.”

The collie smiled wide, and shook his head. “Not a chance, not with me…”

Lazlo butted in. “Mr. Frederickson’s gay.”

“And ace,” he insisted, “Took me years to figure that part out..” He offered a hand for Dave to shake.. He took it, and found the grip firm, but gentle- no squeezing contest here. “I’ve heard so much about you from Laz, and I’ve been looking for someb’dy to write a political column for the Leakey Lake Times… so far, all I’ve got are redneck editorials about hanging the governor… I think you’d be a much better fit.”

Dave felt excitement well within him- though those nagging little voices persisted. “But… I don’t live close enough-”

“Work from home,” he grunted, “So long’s you get me the stories on time, I don’t mind…”

“And, if you want,” Lazlo murmured, “You could come up  _ with _ me during the summer!”

Dave looked between them with an uncomfortable speed. “And.. and my references?”

“We’ll have to get those,” the old dog agreed, “But, so long as you don’t huff paint, or… kill small animals, I don’t mind… You ever been fired from a job?”

He squeaked. “Once.”

“What for?”

“The uh… Manager of the burger stand I worked at didn’t like my Pride buttons.”

The dog snorted. “That’s it?”

Dave smirked. “And, uh.. Might’ve had the wrong bumper sticker.”

Frederickson howled with laughter! “I had a two foot wide rainbow sticker on my Impala when the mayor ‘a this town was a Klansmen! They were slashing my tires twice a week!... We’ll get along good, kid!.. You come by sometime, we’ll finish the paperwork… That sound good?”

Dave nodded exuberantly. “Yeah, it.. It does! Th-thank, you Mr. Frederickson!”

The dog hit him on the back a little too hard and Dave coughed. “Please, kid- call me Collie.”

\---

The weather had gotten much better by the time sunset rolled around. Dark clouds and occasional rain gave way to blue skies turning golden on the horizon.. Spring had sprung, though it was only a cold April in the mountains… Lazlo had annoyed Lumpus into giving them the key to the boathouse, and the two had rowed out on a canoe with a pair of greasy burgers from Beef Lumberjack’s, looking across the water at the empty Camp Kidney- dark, solemn, awaiting the next campers for whatever Jamboree fell in the Spring. Dave didn’t know; his parents were too cheap to send him then. But he didn’t think he’d have missed it.

And yet, the camp had a charm to it- it was simple. It was a memory of a memory.. Dreamlike and a little rosey- though he remembered all those pantsings, the one-sided tug-of-war, the awful food..

“Is the food any better?”

Lazlo looked up from the water. “H-huh?”

Dave nodded, repeating himself. “Has the food at Camp gotten any better…?”

Lazlo laughed and nodded. “Totally! Scoutmaster Wolfe resigned, but they hired him back as the cook when Chef McMuesli got detained in Chile!... He’s out now, but he joined Greanpeace. I have him on Facebook!”

“Good luck to them,” Dave retorted, “Let’s hope they keep him away from the galley.”

The two chuckled, but there was something underneath- tension, but not uncomfortable. The good tension, the feeling of being brought together- and they faced each other.

“You really did all that for me…?” Dave was thankful beyond his wildest dreams.

Lazlo nodded. “I.. I know you don’t get paid at the student paper.. It being a… a club and all-.. So I thought you might like it… and… Augh, I’m selfish…”

Dave gave a knowing smile. “You hoped I’d be closer to you?”

Lazlo nodded. “Please, forgive me…”

Instead of forgiveness, Dave kissed him smack on the lips.

“You’re a miracle worker, Lazlo… I love you.”

“I love you too, Dave….. Would you like to spend the night…?”

Dave eyed him. “... Do the showers still run cold?”

Lazlo met his gaze. “Not for three people… There’s plenty of hot water to go around…”

And, to the tune of a far-off log truck, Jake-breaking down some no-name mountain where the timber grew high and close together, they embraced at sunset. Hours later, they retired to the van, to see a movie and embrace once more. And when they dreamt, they dreamt of the past and the future, running together- themselves, running together, with crowns of flowers from no-name meadows and skipping stones from no-name creeks… And both knew where the premise of that Austrian fairytale originated.

It came from them.

THE END.


End file.
